I saw a man die on Facebook. I heard the distraught commands of the officer who shot him. Friends of Lavish Reynolds watched the live stream. The world watched later.
I saw another man die on Facebook. This time, I looked at the gun fire into him at point-blank range. His arm grasped at the life that a moment ago he owned, and in a moment, he would lose.
I’ve sat and quietly watched the world burn this summer. Shame on me.
Dallas saw 5 of their public servants fall in the line of duty. They fell protecting & serving a community exercising their Constitutional Rights. They were just doing their jobs. They didn’t deserve to die. None of them deserved to die. But they all did. And we’re left to quibble over the remnants of violence. We try, in vain, to make it all make sense.
Violence is the thread connecting all of these events. Violence in America is ubiquitous. Predictably, warring factions will entrench themselves in opposing corners. They will hurl accusations and denials, prey on ignorance with rhetorical fallacies, and deepen the chasm that got us here in the first place. No compromise. They’re in the business of building walls. The opportunity cost is distributed equally amongst the crumbling bridges while the victims plummet through the cracks. They are the victims of violence from fear and frustration. They are victims of violence, born of violence, and condemned to suffer from the very same violence from which they sprang.
Yet we bicker.
In the not-so-distant past, a letter was penned in a Birmingham jail. Written as a rejoinder to the bickering of the day, the words of this letter were velvet daggers puncturing the facade of a manufactured empathy. The author’s well-reasoned attempt to turn sentiment to action resulted in a prose composed with a smooth and rolling tenor. He masterfully criticized without scorching the earth. He questioned without brushing back on the fur and proffered a message that is as relevant today as it was fifty years ago. The author never saw the complete realization of his work. Violence was the response to Dr. King’s reasonable pursuits, and violence took him way too soon.
“Unwise and untimely” is the critique that prompted Dr. King’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail. Implicit in the assertion is that disrupting social norms (de facto) to claim rights guaranteed by law (de jure) requires better timing. Conceding that the timing isn’t right is admitting that at some point, the time is right. It is the suggestion that the status quo continues governing until the social discomfort is not so uncomfortable. In other words, “unwise and untimely” is a euphemism. And fuck those insidious creations.
What is really being said, at least on the surface, is that “your problem–and any solution–requires action from me, and that encroaches on my liberty. My ‘freedom from’ obligation provides me with the ‘freedom to’ ignore.” Simply put, while life may be inequitable, it’s not my problem. And that’s not okay. It is America. You can think/feel whatever you’d like. But….
One doesn’t need to stay out of the rain to enjoy the life it nurtures. We cannot be afraid that outside of our bubble is slippery when wet. Taking a stance on an issue is commendable, but it is only the first step. Stationary advocacy then, as now, rings hollow. I must confess that I too am guilty of this.
I transgress my station each time I remind myself that I can’t appear militant. “Don’t be too brash” I’ll say, “they’ll stop listening.” Because they can.
What makes this climate seem impossible is that we need them to listen. But we must overcome our cowardice. We must not settle to take our lumps or swallow our pride to make the money we need to live in their world. Make no mistake: it is their world, you, me, and all the disaffected are still a guest in it. And we are privileged to share in the privilege. But only insofar as it is allowed.
sometimestheyforget 